


A Glimpse Into A Mind That Does Not Exist

by StarReads



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, Episode: e101 Another Twist (The Magnus Archives), Gen, I got bodysnatched by the Distortion, I wrote this in a haze and have little recollection of actually starting this piece, Identity Issues, Light Angst, Micheal's becoming, Origin Story, and all I got was this fucking statement, light blood/violence warning, light gerrymicheal if you reeeeally squint., takes place during events described in 101, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 08:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29623584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarReads/pseuds/StarReads
Summary: Micheal was never meant to exist.This doesn't seem to matter in the slightest.
Kudos: 4





	A Glimpse Into A Mind That Does Not Exist

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: Mild body horror, gore/blood mention, unreality and general Spiral triggers. 
> 
> Legit got possessed writing this. Went to work on another fic and blinked and I'd written this. Might just mean I spaced out and somehow kept writing but all the same, I'm not sure where this came from. But I like it!!!

It started you think, with a door, if ever such a thing could have a beginning.

You twist and spin and pull along a path that never was, you contort around a body that has always been yours in skin that is entirely unfamiliar. You weep and pull at hair turned into barbed wire beneath your skin that should not be something you own yet it is yours all the same. You throw yourself at walls to try to escape the you that is surrounding you, choking you, chaining you to an existence that is not was not will never be real. 

You are hunting yourself, both prey and predator sinking teeth and claws into flesh that will not tear yet does anyways with blood that cannot be yet is. You cannot hunt a thing that does not exist yet you stalk the halls for a person that cannot be there yet leaves bloodied footprints along the walls. You howl with lungs that have never needed air yet ache for oxygen in a way that brings you to what are not knees but close enough to bruise. 

You see in the thing that is not a mirror and yet reflects what is not all the same a person who cannot be you, because there is no you to be. He is scared angry hurt betrayed confused lost broken human in a way that you cannot understand and when he you we speak it is drowned out by the static in your head in his head in no one's head at all. 

You resist your new life, try to find old habits to comfort the pain that cannot be yours, because what of you can feel, but it is no use. You exist now and it hurts because you are everything that is impossible, and isn't that just funny funny funny funny because you have always delighted in the things that were not are not is not and now you are that and more. You vomit pieces of that damn map and the part of you still human enough to feel hates what has been done to you. 

You lose yourself to the unreality of your new reality, pacing up and down endless halls where the doors lead to nothing but there is always somewhere to be going and you bite at nails turned claws turned bone turned steam beneath skin that peels like oranges and tangerines and the rotting binding of books left to die at the bottom of the ocean where corpses rot and whatever beings rule above this mad world have abandoned their sanity. You decide somehow that to exist this way is insufficient and thus you commit to not existing more than you have to, stealing bits and pieces of life from the cracked and bleeding edges of the thing you call yourself. 

You play your little game beneath the surface of the grinning corpse that bears your name, content to collect the pieces for your board where the rules are ever changing and yet nonexistent all the same. For deception is the name of your silly half-life born from something that cannot ever live and you aim to please. So you don the mask of a boy that never mattered beyond his final breath and dance to the beat of a drum that never was, to the merry tune of your own rotting heart encased in ice colder than the tears wrung from you when you realized you'd been abandoned to this hellish place you now know is your coffin and your body. 

You think in a different life you might have written an image of yourself on a page in ink on a book in a place that does not exist, but it seems you've lost that image somewhere in the haze of a life that cannot be yours. You glimpse pieces of this mirror you, living a life too beautiful to be anything but a lie, and this you smiles wide and laughs loudly, surrounded by friends that never could have been yours. 

There is far too much light in this half-lie you tell yourself to keep the beating heart buried in the depths of this endless maze of impossible hallways and fearful despair from shattering completely. There is a boy sometimes in these visions who you know you miss dreadfully, if that is a thing you can still feel, and you swear sometimes you can still see his eyes, all of them, looking at you so sadly. You smell smoke those days and know in your heart that then next time you see him will be in this hell you call a body.

You can only hope that someday whatever finds you next will have the mercy to tear your you from its what and finally rescue what could never be from what never was. 


End file.
